Jealous?
by AliceFae
Summary: A bit PWP. Post Reichenbach. Johnlock fic. Sherlock disappears for a few days and returns with an unexpected guest. Is John a little jealous of Irene?


A/N: PLEASE READ THIS FIRST! ( I apologize for the caps, but I had to get your attention.) I wrote this story some time ago. So long ago, that I barely remember having written it. For all I know, I didn't even write it. Therefore, please be kind. I would not publish it if I thought it was total nonsense, but it ends somewhat inconclusively and it may contain some grammatical infelicities... however, I hope you enjoy it nonetheless.

Here's just a bit of background: This is post- Reichenbach Fall. Don't mean to spoil anything. So, yes, Sherlock's been back from some time, but he disappears for a few days and comes back with a familiar guest. It's pretty much PWP.

Disclaimer: I don't own BBC Sherlock. I make no money out of this. I gain only the satisfaction of reading your reviews.

Jealous?

Sherlock had not been home for three days, and John was worried. Well, to call it worry was perhaps an understatement; he'd spent those three days in agony, not sleeping and barely having more than a few cups of tea and the occasional biscuit to eat. He'd texted his fingers to the bone trying to contact either Mycroft or Sherlock, but none of them responded. Even Mrs. Hudson was in a state of panic though John suspected that she secretly enjoyed the calm that came with Sherlock's absence. There was no use involving the Yard; he'd phoned Lestrade to ask about Sherlock a day ago, and he'd simply answered that he'd no idea what Sherlock Holmes got off to on his free time, and he'd likely turn up eventually. John was just about to reach for the phone and dial the Queen, when the front door to their small apartment slammed open. There stood Sherlock wearing a simple black button down shirt, and a pair of casual trousers. The large wool coat and scarf he ordinarily wore were nowhere in sight, until Sherlock moved aside to let pass a very smug looking woman wrapped up in said coat. She sent a smirk towards John before coming fully into the room. She removed the coat and tossed it on the couch. She held one hand to her hip and spoke "Well, then, I take it you're surprised to see me?" She raised an eyebrow at John, who was looking between her and Sherlock with a very unbecoming look of shock much like that of a gapping fish. John took a second before raising his hand towards her "But…but, you're supposed to be dead." He looked towards Sherlock who wore an unreadable expression. John noticed his hair looked slightly tousled and his shirt was not tucked in as was his usual habit; it hung loosely over his trousers. It seemed like they'd been… oh. Sherlock turned his gaze downward at John's inspection while Irene Adler's smile widened. There was an awkward tension in the room and it continued for a few seconds until Mrs. Hudson came bustling into the room.

"Sherlock! Where have you been? You've had us worried sick. John here hasn't slept in days or eaten a bite-"

"Mrs. Hudson, it's alright," interjected John, trying to hush Mrs. Hudson and keep her from revealing anything more about his concern for Sherlock. She bustled on downstairs. John looked up at Sherlock and found his normally sallow cheeks, slightly colored. Then John noticed the bruise. Just under his left eye, and spreading on his cheekbone.

"Sherlock, what have you been doing" said John, walking over to Sherlock to get a better look at the bruise tainting his perfectly pale face. He brought his hand up to the side of Sherlock's face, but Sherlock turned away from him and walked over towards where Irene stood. "It's fine, John." He said in a dry manner. John wasn't sure where to start, but he needed some answers.

"So, you're gone for three days. No note, not message, no luggage or any other sign of a planned trip. I have sent you a dozen texts and called more times than I can say, and nothing… not even Mycroft- "

"I left especial instructions for Mycroft, to not inform you of my whereabouts."

"Your whereabouts? And, may I ask exactly where those whereabouts might be?" John was becoming a bit frustrated now as he stared at Sherlock and a smirking Irene Adler.

Sherlock, who had now managed to sit himself at his usual chair, with Irene resting against the arm, did not bother to look up as he gave a very definite "no."

"Oh, well, then. Welcome back Sherlock Holmes." John said bitterly as he walked into the kitchen. At the corner of his eyes, he could see Irene bending her head towards Sherlock's ear, then seductively lifting herself from her place beside him before passing by John on her way to the bathroom. "Long trip, best take a nice hot shower."

John turned his gaze at Sherlock from the kitchen, and was surprised to meet his eyes.

"John," said Sherlock standing up and walking towards the kitchen. He stood beside John, but didn't look him in the face as he spoke. "I had my reasons for what I did. It was a life or death situation and I could waste no time notifying you and the press of where I was headed."

John kept fumbling over a cup of tea, ignoring Sherlock. Sherlock let out a long sigh "Ugh, you're being unreasonable, John. I had to find her and I could not waste time reassuring you-"

John finally turned towards Sherlock, his anger noticeable in his voice. "Has it ever occurred to you, has it ever crossed your brilliant mind Sherlock Holmes, that there are some people in the world who care about you? People who might have thought you in danger or …dead. Again, I may add." Sherlock cast his eyes down again. He recalled those few months after he'd faked his death, and what they had done to John. He looked up and saw the hurt in his friend's eyes.

"John, I'm…"

They both turned their head at the sound of Mrs. Hudson.

"Well, here you are, a nice cuppa and some biscuits. John you must eat something. You too Sherlock, you look a mess. Where have you been? And what in god's name have you gotten into with that woman? She's not good news for you Sherlock…"

They both ignored Mrs. Hudson's rant as they grabbed a biscuit. The sudden appearance of Irene Adler was still in John's mind. He opened his mouth to ask, but Sherlock stopped him.

"She will be staying here with us from some time. I …I have had to involve Mycroft in helping me relocate her."

"Sherlock, but how? How is she alive? Mycroft himself told me that she'd been killed. Captured someplace in the middle east…" John stopped at Sherlock's sudden laugh.

"Yes, yes, it was all very secretly planned. I was there to save her that night. But I lost contact for some time. It was only after my suicide that I had the time to look for her. I used those quiet moths to find her, and once I had, she'd asked for my help. I couldn't refuse." The same blush crept into his face.

"I see." John said. "So this has all been planned for some time."

"I couldn't risk anyone finding out about it until it was done… not even you. John, I'm…"

Once again they were interrupted by a female voice.  
"Well, well, I leave you alone for a minute and you're already making passes at someone else behind my back." Irene Adler stood leaning against the door frame wearing a long button down white shirt and drying her hair with a towel. She made her way towards them and rested her face on the crook of Sherlock's neck. She turned towards John and smiled. "I suppose we will be flatmates for a while." John nodded, grabbed his cup of tea and made his way towards the living room. Irene turned to Sherlock with a smirk. She leaned into his ear and whispered "I believe he might be jealous." Sherlock followed her eyes to John, and for some inexplicable reason, all air left his lungs.

Later that night, sleeping arrangements were made. Irene had claimed Sherlock's bedroom, and John had to wonder if their relationship had extended to more intimate matters. But Sherlock had grumpily carried some of his pillows onto the couch, and had settled himself in what looked like a rather uncomfortable position. He was far too tall to sleep on it. John waited until Irene had closed her door and settled into bed, before making his way towards the living room. To his surprise, Sherlock wasn't lying down; he was standing by the window looking out onto the evening rain. John came up slowly behind him careful not to startle him, but Sherlock acknowledge him casually without turning from the window.

"Midnight snack? He'd asked. John gave a tiny chuckle. "No, I was actually just checking if you were alright. You didn't look very comfortable when I saw you lying there."

Sherlock turned "hmm, it's alright. I don't sleep much as it is."

"Well, you're more than welcome to my bed" John said, earning a raised brow from Sherlock.

John blushed a bit. "Oh, I didn't mean… I only meant that if you'd like to use my bed, you can. I am much shorter, I could sleep out here on the couch much better."

Sherlock smiled and walked towards John almost predatorily. "So, you'd be willing to give me your bed?" John nodded. "And you wouldn't mind sleeping out here on the sofa?"

John nodded again."It really wouldn't be an issue…" he said.

Sherlock brought his lips to John's ear and whispered in what could be called a seductive voice had it not been lazed with an almost threatening and hungry deepness. "I couldn't do that to you, John" whispered Sherlock.

John trying to keep his heart from running away opened his mouth slightly "yes…" he gulped "well, it really wouldn't be a problem." Sherlock smiled against John's ear. "I have a better idea." John was sure that last part had been whispered with a smirk.

Sherlock walked towards John's bedroom, one of his pillows from the couch held under his arm. He waited until John opened the door and then stepped inside. He wasted to time in tossing the pillow onto the bed and slipping into one side. John watched from the door until Sherlock patted the empty space beside him. "Come on, then."

John opened his mouth to protest. "Sherlock, I can just sleep in the couch, really."

Sherlock turned in bed to face him. "Nonsense, now come here."

John sighed, but closed the door and walked over to his bed in the darkness. He lay down, all the while feeling ridiculous. What was Sherlock playing at with all this? Why wasn't he with Irene in the next room? The woman with whom he was clearly having a …something.

He lay stiffly staring at a black ceiling for a while until he felt an arm drape itself over his stomach. "Sherlock…" he whispered, thinking the man beside him had already fallen asleep.

John attempted to remove his friend's hand, only to find himself trapped further by a thin long leg. "Sherlock" John protested. But the hand that had been merely resting on his stomach began to slide toward his chest, stopping only at the crook of his neck.  
"Sherlock, wha…what are you doing? Are you awake?" He was given a very husky "mmhmm" as an answer.

"Sherlock… you shouldn't, we shouldn't." Sherlock's husky voice returned to John's ear. "We shouldn't what, John?"

It took some time for John to be able to respond. He pushed gently at Sherlock's arm. "This, Sherlock."

"This what?" Sherlock's lips passed over John's ear and down to his jawbone.

"This! You… you doing this to me."

"Do you dislike it?" The soft brushes of his lips had become tiny kisses along John's neck.

"Mmmm…Sherlock, please, don't."

"Answer me, John. Do you dislike it?"

John sucked in a breath, then slowly answered " no…"

"Then may I do this?" asked Sherlock, suddenly sounding more alert.

"Do what?" asked John, but before he could get any form of explanation, he felt soft lips on his. Oh god, Sherlock's lips.

Sherlock's lips moved softly over his, almost innocently, seeking out something he wasn't sure of. John's head felt heavy and light all at once. "Sherlock…" he tried whispering, but his lips were quickly muted by his friend's. He couldn't keep this tender pace for much longer; it was driving him half mad. John experimentally opened his lips slightly and let just the tip of his tongue dance over Sherlock's lips. Sherlock immediately retracted his head in surprise and he surveyed John under him with awe and wonder. However, his shock lasted only a few seconds, he soon brought his head down towards John's and proceeded into a deeper kiss which was a bit messy at first, but soon found some rhythm. John led Sherlock's inexperienced tongue into a soft and intimate dance that was driving them both wild. Sherlock hoisted himself up atop John in order to deepen the kiss. John couldn't help it, his hands went around Sherlock's waist over him and he brought his head up to aggravate the kiss, he bit Sherlock's lower lip, making the taller man hiss in delight. Sherlock brought his pelvis down and rubbed himself against John, in an action that surprised them both. John gasped, and Sherlock closed his eyes and gave a long sigh at the feel.

"Sherlock… we shouldn't" but before he could finish, Sherlock was tugging at the corners of John's shirt. He succeeded in bringing the garment over his head and wasted to time in tasting and kissing John's chest.

"Sherlock…"

"John, please. I just want this…I just want you" The confession left John a bit flabbergasted.

"What about you and Irene, you two have obviously… you know."

Sherlock chuckled and spoke between kisses. "She kissed me in the car, and pulled my shirt down and tousled my hair just so she could check if…"

"So she could check if what?"

"To check if you'd be jealous." Sherlock answered.

"Jealous? Why would I be jealous?" John hoisted himself up on his elbows, interrupting Sherlock's caresses and frantic little kisses.

"So you weren't?" Sherlock said with a frown.

"Sherlock… I. I, well, I sometimes just don't know. I feel certain things about you and they are all rather confusing…"

"How does this make you feel?" Sherlock kissed alongside John's ear.

"Um, it feels nice… but-"

"How about this?" Sherlock kissed down his neck and chest, then attached himself onto a nipple, sucking and biting it until it was hard.

"Ah, Sherlock!" John hissed in pleasure. Sherlock turned to the next nipple and rolled it between his teeth. John gasped bellow him.

"John, please, let me pleasure you." Sherlock brought his hand down to John's pajama pants and played with the loose elastic band there.

"Sherlock, stop." John grabbed onto Sherlock's hand and began to sit up on the bed. "First things first," he said. His fingers went to Sherlock's robes and pulled them off his chest, revealing his wonderful pale chest in the darkness.

"John, you don't have to…" But John had his lips over him. "I want to" he said.

He fumbled with the pants Sherlock wore and loosened them. To Sherlock's embarrassment, his manhood stood up in attention, thick, long and erect. John eased Sherlock down onto the bed, and spread his leg aside for a comfortable angle, then he kneeled down between his legs and looked at his lovely manhood and brought his mouth tentatively over it. Sherlock moaned and bucked his hips. John put a hand on his hips in order to relax him. "Sherlock, relax, love."

A/N: Alright, so this is where I left it off when I wrote it. Sorry. Maybe, I'll continue. Please review.


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